Chapter 32

One mid-morning I was in my room reading one of the books from the camp library. To stretch my legs, I stood up and approached the window that looked out on the courtyard. I noticed some unusual movement. Women scurried to the guardhouse, which stood near the entrance gate of our prison. To be so close to the gate was against the rules, yet there they were, and what was more intriguing, they carried parcels and string, which I could see dangling from their hands.

"What's up?" I said to myself and quickly left the window and the room.

I hastened to inquire of one of the women. "Where are you going with that parcel, Kitty?" I asked as she hugged the large carton to her bosom. It was neatly wrapped in heavy brown paper and tied carefully with white cord. Kitty stopped abruptly to say to me, "It's a secret," and quickly sped on her way. A short while later, another friend, Theresa, came loaded down with a carefully wrapped parcel; I repeated my question to her.

"I haven't time now. I'll tell you later," and she wriggled away from me.

These evasive responses really intrigued me. Needless to say, I did not return to my book. I followed them to the place where they deposited their bundles. I noticed on the camp bulletin board, typed in bold letters, the names of the women who carried the cartons, all supposedly my friends. All, like me, had husbands in P.O.W. camps, and my name was not among them!

I checked and double-checked, but I could not find my name on the list. Suddenly, my eyes fastened upon the name of an English woman with the dreaded address. So that's where she was, the poor escapee. The Nazis had sent her to the women's extermination camp in Ravensbruck!

Never was her name mentioned or the fact that the captain of our group mailed parcels to her to sweeten her life there. Who knew whether she ever received them?

I decided to look into my own case.

I went to see our captain. I wanted to know why my name was omitted. She sat at her desk, working on some papers. I greeted her with a cool, "Good morning," and then asked, "I noticed some women are sending parcels to their husbands. Why wasn't my name placed on the list of those mailing?" My voice quivered.

She replied haughtily, "You don't have a husband in camp."

I wondered who gave her such erroneous information. Instantly, I replied, "Yes, I do. My husband has been in camp since September 18, 1939. I have never been able to send him a parcel." Then, in an urgent voice, I pleaded, "I'm now asking permission of you to allow me to get one ready for him."

She retorted angrily, "No, the list is up. It's too late to put your name on it."

I turned and left, shutting the door after me. Why was it so important to send my husband a package? Food was scarce. Knowing the kind of food we received in camp, the men in prison camps probably did not receive any better. By obtaining a food parcel from his wife, Edmund's morale would be lifted, and that was immensely important to me. I was willing to share my carton with him, if permitted. It would help ease the long separation.

I was shocked by the treatment from our captain. One would think she would give permission after listening to my appeal. She was the one who presented the list to the Commanding Officer. Now she refused to ask for one more parcel.

It took me the rest of the day to overcome my disappointment and to decide what to do. Should I approach the captain again? Go to the German authorities? I decided to go straight to the C.O. the next morning and present my case. Armed with evidence--folded letters from my husband, Edmund, with the camp site stamped on them--I presented my case.

The C.O., convinced that Edmund was really imprisoned and surprised that I was overlooked on the list of sendees, exclaimed, "Well, take this order with your parcel to the guard. He will accept it for shipment."

"Thank you very much," I said smiling and left, my heart pounding with delight.

One warm afternoon in June of 1944, I was out walking in the courtyard with one of the internees. As we circled the garden, I noticed a guard leading two young girls into the compound. The younger one limped. I noticed she had a plaster of paris cast on her left leg. "Too bad, " I said to June, "I wonder how she made the trip to camp."

"We'll soon know, because they look as if they're prisoners just like you and me. They seem to know you," June exclaimed.

"Mamma," the taller one called. Strange ... the voice was familiar. But two years did make a difference and I did not recognize them, or did I expect them here in camp. The taller was the older one; she was haggard looking, while Dana, the younger, grew some and had put on some weight. She was already revealing her feminine figure.

Since I had not expected them; for a minute their coming surprised me. How come they are here? Who sent them? What were the conditions of their transport? Lord, did they go through what I did two years ago? But no more reminiscing. I ran to my daughters, hugged them. Our tears intermingled.

"Mamma, you put on some weight," was the first thing they said. "You look so different from the people in Warsaw, who are exhausted and worn out by the war."

I was not hurt by her remark. I was eager to hear about them. "I'm so glad and happy to see you. How was your trip here? How long did it take? How are Grandma, Aunt Lillian, and Lilliana? Did you bring any news from Dad?"

We talked a few minutes until the guard reminded us, "I have to take the girls to the C.O. to be recorded in the camp." He was the same officer who received me in his office after my unhappy bus experience.

"Alright, I'll go with them." We followed the guard, happy that we were together again. Words could not express the joy in my heart upon seeing my daughters alive, and with me.

"Mrs. Niewiarowski, the girls will be in the same room with you. Two of the women will vacate the room today."

"Thank you," I said and led the girls out of the C.O.'s office.

We continued our conversation. "During the transport, did you get food? Are you hungry now? What happened to your foot, my dearest?"

They tried to answer my questions, all of us happily excited by their arrival.

My daughter again repeated her question. "Mom, dear, how come you're so fat?"

At that time I weighed 140 pounds. I quickly explained, "Here in camp, the International Red Cross supplies us with food parcels. We have no food shortages. Wait till you see what's in them," I added.

"We know you have chocolate bars, prunes, raisins, spaghetti, cigarettes, Prem, and other things you sent us in the parcels."

For the present, they did not feel hungry. We had no need to hurry to our room. Instead, I led them to a bench beside on of the three buildings. We sat down to enjoy our reunion.

"Good gracious, Mom! We did not know how well you lived here. We also had no knowledge of what we were going to get into. But at first glance, it's a nice prison ... except for the iron bars on the windows."

"Darlings, I'll explain everything, but please tell me why you came here, how did you come here, and are you hungry?"

"The German authorities were constantly at Aunt Lillian's home interrogating her about us. She didn't want us to leave Warsaw, but finally the Nazis set a date for our departure. Meanwhile, Dana sprained her ankle while on a trip to the village near Warsaw for food. The authorities had to be notified that we could not go on the day appointed by them. They postponed our departure for a few days. In the meantime, Dana's leg was put in a cast. Aunt Lillian got some things together, such as food and clothing. She did not have time to notify you, and here we are."

"Now tell me, are you really hungry? When did you eat last? What was it that you had prepared for the trip? When did you leave Warsaw and did you go to any prisons?"

"We're not very hungry; Aunt Lillian prepared sandwiches for us. She had nice fresh butter and ham, and boiled some eggs for the journey. She gets these items on the black market. No, we're not hungry, but could we get some milk, Mom?" Dana asked with a longing in her voice. "I am very thirsty."

"Wait a moment. Here comes June. I'll ask her to go for the milk to the German nuns. First, let's go upstairs to our room, you can lie down on my bed. In the meantime, June will go with a packet of cigarettes to the nun and she will give some milk for you. June will say that two new internees came--two children--and Sister Josepha may give the milk to her for the cigarettes."

June approached the youngsters and greeted them, then asked, "Where did you come from, and how long did it take you to get here?"

"June, dear, they're tired and I don't know the answers yet, either. You know that they have just arrived, and they are thirsty. Would you please go to the nun for some milk for them and slip her this packet of cigarettes?"

"Sure, I'll go and hurry back. The nun will exchange the milk for cigarettes without any questions." Off she went.

While my friend was gone, Dana complained of her aching ankle. "Mom, it seems like my foot's on fire, especially that part of it where the ankle is."

"I'll go and see the nurse--she's an internee like us--I'll ask her what can be done to relieve your pain. Meanwhile, rest here on the bed and relax."

Irene, to satisfy her curiosity, was now on her knees, peering under the bed, surveying the cache of cans stored away there.

"Mom, what a treasure you have here. May I have this chocolate bar? I haven't had any since you sent us some last year; and the cans of tea and coffee and Prem here! I'd like some right away without any bread, and look, Dana, what else is here under the bed! Powdered milk and a can of dried egg yolks. What else is there that we could make something of? Mom, maybe someday we'll make a chocolate loaf cake--a no-bake cake--using the cocoa from the English parcel, powdered milk, sugar, some coffee for flavor and a bit of water. We press it all into a loaf; presto, it's ready and no need to bake it!"

"Good, we'll try that after we take care of Dana's ankle. By the way, have you made this loaf in Warsaw?" Irene replied in the affirmative.

"I'll be back soon. I'll go to the nurse now." I ran off to see the nurse, while Irene and Dana munched on a chocolate bar.

Soon the nurse arrived, looked at the foot in the cast; then she took the child's temperature. It was 100 degrees. She declared, "The doctor will come tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. I will place your name down for an early appointment. Here are two aspirins to give the girl. Let her rest and stay off her foot. In the morning the doctor will see her." She left.

Meanwhile, June, smiling from her mission, returned with a large container of milk. "I had no problem. The nun, seeing the cigarettes, gave the milk willingly. She intimated that in a few days her nephew would be visiting her and that he would be pleased to get the cigarettes."

Dana drank some of the milk, leaving a bit for her sister.

Irene, looking out of the window, exclaimed, "Mom, this isn't a prison; why are the bars on the windows?"

"Oh, yes, it is something like a prison, but first allow me to answer your question. Darling, this place was a hospital, or should I say an asylum for mentally disturbed persons, before the war. In order to prevent the inmates from jumping from the windows, they put bars on them. Only a handful of inmates remained, the more capable ones, to take care of the premises. The others were removed. The iron bars remained."

"Oh, that's sad," said Irene with pity.

"Irene, Dana will rest now, maybe catch up on some sleep, and we'll go down for a walk before the evening meal. I'm so glad both of you are here with me now. I won't worry anymore about what you are doing in Warsaw. While we're strolling, you can tell me about your transport here and about Aunt Lillian, Grandma and your cousin, Lilliana."

We went down the polished stairway. Irene remarked, "Oh, Mom, how nice and clean it is here." Soon we were walking along the paths in the courtyard, meeting various women, English and American, some of the latter speaking only in Polish. Irene met a few of the English nuns on the walk. I was eager to learn about the girls' trip to the camp. I knew that mine was a nine-day ordeal. Now I wanted to hear how my children fared on their way from Warsaw, Poland. In order to be alone, I led Irene to a bench beside the castle and she explained the two-day trip without interruption.

"Mom, we left Warsaw at about 8:00 a.m. on Saturday in the company of two uniformed guards, who escorted us all the way to the camp. They brought us something to drink, when stopped at the railroad station. Aunt Lillian packed plenty of sandwiches and hard boiled eggs for our trip, so we were not hungry. The first night we spent traveling on the train. The following evening we reached Ulm, a town in southwest Germany, where we spent the night in the women's section of the Ulm prison."

"Did you hear any sounds, screams or moaning there during the night?"

"No, Mom, only when the heavy door clanged behind us, did we feel that we were in a strange place."

"Did you have something to sleep on?" I asked.

"Yes, we each had a cot. The following morning, we again boarded a train, which took us to Ravensbruck and from there we came by military truck to Liebenau."

"I saw that you both carried luggage."

"Oh, yes. Aunt Lillian filled it with warm clothing, dresses and a coat. She figured we would spend the winter in camp."

"Irene, dear, let's go back to our room and see how Dana is doing."

When we returned, we found Dana in great pain. Nothing, however, could be done. There was no emergency doctor on call. Dana took two aspirins and we waited until morning. Meanwhile, the poor child moaned all night long.

Early at 8:00 a.m. she hobbled down with me by her side to the nurse's room. There we waited for the doctor. At 9:00 a.m. he appeared, took one look at the leg and exclaimed, "We'll have to remove the cast and lance the ulcer." With the help of the nurse, he proceeded to take the cast off.

"Mrs. Niewiarowski, you will please leave the room, while we take care of your daughter," the nurse advised.

I left with hesitation. All at once, I heard my daughter scream; I covered my ears not to hear anymore and quickly left the premises.

Soon the nurse called me. "You can take Dana to her room. She'll be alright in a couple of days."

While she lay in bed, she longed for the time when she could eventually go out for short walk around the garden and, later, go mushroom picking. In the meantime, to make her days happy, the various internees visited her, bringing homemade candy with them.

For a time the arrival of the two girls brought a sense of newness to the camp. The internees now had an opportunity to find out from the girls how it was outside the enclosure. Irene told of the hardships in securing food.

Dana, when asked, replied, "Grandma and I had a little garden a few kilometers away. We traveled by bus to it and we worked it with care. Vegetables like lettuce, radishes and green onions grew abundantly, so we had a variety to choose from daily. For milk and meat we went to the countryside and bought as much as we could carry, since money was no problem. It was on one of these trips to the country for meat that I turned my ankle, shortly before the Nazis came to take us from Warsaw."

The two girls were liked by the women, especially by the English nuns. Willingly, they conversed with them on the walks. Dana had problems with the English language at the beginning. But Irene, under the tutelage of the gracious nuns, grew more proficient in the new language with each day.

Since many of the internees of Polish descent did not know the English language and prospects of transports to the U.S. were in sight, I proposed to have a class for beginners in English. The classes were well attended and many of the women took advantage of them. Many of the internees learned the new language well enough to be able to really use it.